You rais'd thefe hallow'd walls; the defert fmil'd,
And Paradife was open'd in the Wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our fhrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No filver faints, by dying mifers given,
Here bribe'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
But fuch plain roofs as Piety could raise,

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And only vocal with the Maker's praise.

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In thefe lone walls (their day's eternal bound)

These mois-grown domes with fpiry turrets crown'd,

Where awful arches make a noon-day night,

And the dim windows fhed a folemn light;

Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,

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And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others pray'rs I try,
(Oh pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
But why fhould I on others pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, hufband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, fifter, daughter move,
And, all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darkfome pines that o'er yon' rocks reclin'd

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Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring freams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,

The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;

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*He founded the Monastery.

No

No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to reft the vifionary maid.

But o'er the twilight groves, and dusky caves,
Long-founding ifles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy presence faddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!

can break the lasting chain;
shall my cold dust remain,

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170

Death, only death,

And here ev'n then,

Here all its frailties,

all its flames refign,

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And wait till 'tis no fin to mix with thine.

Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,

Confefs'd within the flave of love and man.

Affift me heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

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I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;

I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;

I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and follicit new;

Now turn'd to heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.

Ofall affliction taught a lover yet,

'Tis fure the hardeft fcience, to forget!

M 4

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190 How

How fhall I lose the fin, yet keep the fense,
And love th' offender, yet deteft th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how diftinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to refign,

For hearts fo touch'd, fo pierc'd, so loft as mine.
E'er fuch a foul regains its peaceful state,
How often muft it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdain-do all things but forget.
But let heav'n feize it, all at once 'tis fir'd,
Not touch'd, but rapt; not weaken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, my felf-and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone, can rival, can fucceed to thee.

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot :
Eternal fun-fhine of the spotlefs mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each with refign'd;
Labour and reft, that equal periods keep;

Obedient flumbers that can wake and weep;
Defires compos'd, affections ever even ;

Tears that delight, and fighs that waft to heav'n.
Grace fhines around her with fereneft beams,
And whifp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymenæals fing,
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs fhed divine perfumes,

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200

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220 Το

To founds of heav'nly harps fhe dies away,
And melts in vifions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring foul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy :
When at the clofe of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy reftores what vengeance fnatch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loofe foul unbounded fprings to thee.
O curft, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Dæmons all restraint remove,
And ftir within me ev'ry source of love.

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230

I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,

And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.

I wake:- -no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I fay;

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I ftretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arife!

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Alas, no more!methinks we wand'ring go
Thro' dreary waftes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round fome mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden
you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arise.
I fhriek, ftart up, the fame fad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

For thee the fates, feverely kind, ordain
A cool fufpenfe from pleafure and from pain;

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250 Thy

Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
No pulfe that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the fea, e'er winds were taught to blow,
Or moving fpirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiv'n,
And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come Abelard! for what haft thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature ftands check'd; Religion disapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold-yet Eloïfa loves
Ah hopeless, lafting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear, where-e'er I turn my view,
'The dear Ideas where I fly, pursue,
Rife in the grove, before the altar rife,
Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the Matin lamp in fighs for thee,
Thy image fteals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too foft a tear.
When from the cenfer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rifing foul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, fwim before my fight:
In feas of flame my plunging foul is drown'd,
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round.
While proftrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops juft gath'ring in my eye,

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260

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While